


Let Your Colors Burst

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Hijinks, Humor, Practical Jokes, Pranks, Wes Just Can't Help it!, X-Wings, protein cubes?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 16:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7446280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes and Hobbie bring punishment on the Rogues for a prank. But of course, they can't just leave it at that...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Your Colors Burst

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Chart Hits Challenge on TFN. The idea was to write a story (not a songfic!) inspired by a recent mainstream hit. I won’t tell you my song until the end…but by then I’m sure you’ll be able to guess. This is unbeta’d, and I’m breaking my rule to not post anything after 10pm (my brain works better but also much worse after that point!) so concrit is welcome!

It was fairly impressive, Wes Janson thought to himself as his boss came into view, that Wedge could yell so loud that his voice _proceeded_ him into the hangar. 

 

“Incoming.” He whispered to Hobbie, who had his head buried in the underbelly of his X-wing. 

 

Characteristic dour impression intact, Hobbie came out of the access panel and gave him a look that would have been a glare if he had actually put any effort into it. “I’m not _that_ deaf. I can hear him, stupid.”

 

Wes grimaced as he began to hear Wedge’s boots clanging on the deck. “I feel like you shouldn’t be able to hear your death, Hobbie. It’s not fair. That’s why I like space—if someone shoots you, at least you don’t hear it coming.”

 

“JANSON!!!!!” 

 

Smartly Wes turned around and came to attention, snapping a perfect salute. “Boss, yes Sir!”

 

“Cut the bantha poop, Janson, and explain to me why I have a requisition bill on my desk from the Wraiths saying Rogue Squadron owes them nine new mattresses, five pairs of boots, and a month’s supply of protein cubes??” 

 

“Well…” Wes’s salute melted as he grinned. “Boss, it was so perfect!! See, when you take the stuffing out of the types of mattresses that the Wraiths have and mix—“

 

Wedge held a hand up. “Shut it. I don’t want to know, because I still have deniability and I _will_ keep it that way.” He glared at Hobbie, who was shifting from foot to foot and examining the deck with interest. “And you were his accomplice, as usual, Klivian?” Hobbie mumbled something and nodded. 

 

“Since Rogue Squadron’s members apparently have nothing better to do than pull idiotic pranks, I suppose that means we need to do more training with all the free time you have on your hands.” Wes started to groan, but thought the better of it when he saw the look on Wedge’s face.

 

“Yes, Boss.”

 

“Good. You’ll all be here tomorrow morning, at 0600 for training. And _you_ get to tell the rest of the Squadron what your antics bought all of them.”

 

Now the noise followed Wedge _out_ of the hangar, as the prankster’s groans echoed off the bay walls.

 

~//~

 

Space didn’t exactly have sunrises, but that didn’t console the Rogues as they took off out of the  _Defiance_ at the crack of dawn.

 

“Wes, remind me to punch you in the throat when we land, okay?” Corran’s voice was scratchier than normal from the lack of sleep. 

 

“Hey, it wasn’t all me! Hobbie helped too!” 

 

“Yeah, but we all know that the only reason was ‘cause you thought of it first, idiot.” Tycho replied, not missing a beat. 

 

“Cut the chatter. You can thank the two of them later when you don’t get blasted out of the sky by the next Warlord because of all the extra practice.” Wedge’s voice had no hint of fatigue, which did nothing to brighten the moods of the rest of the pilots. 

 

“Form up.”

 

~//~

 

For the third time in as many days, the Rogues flew out of their docking bay to begin their morning practice. The grumbling had only increased, but today Wes was uncharacteristically professional. 

 

“We’ll be commencing fire today, correct Lead?”

 

“Why Wes,” Nawara Ven’s voice came across. “You sound almost like you were in the military.” 

 

“Ha ha.” He didn’t sound sincere.

 

Tycho’s voice was wry. “Mornings finally getting to you?” 

 

“Nah.” Inyri Forge replied. “He’s just intimidated by the Wraiths being our opposition today. Since he gave them extra reason to try to kill him, after all.” 

 

A noncommittal noise that sounded something between a huff and a grunt sounded over the comms.

 

Wedge’s voice sounded like he was stifling a laugh. “Maybe all this drilling is doing you some good, Janson.” There was no answer, only the standard double-click acknowledgement. “Alright Rogues, let’s go. Lasers set to lowest power. Torpedoes have been replaced with dummies, so let’s pretend we’re at war with the Wraiths and kill those suckers. Form up like we briefed, and stick with the plan.”

 

The X-wings spread out, and began to move into the newly-minted pinwheel formation, something Wedge and Tycho had come up with a few nights earlier and were excited to try on the unsuspecting Wraiths. 

 

“Here they come.” Wedge’s voice was as crisp and focused as if this were a real battle. “I’ll take the first wave.”

“Good luck, boss.” Hobbie’s solemn encouragement did nothing to boost anyone’s motivation, but there was an odd tinge to his inflection that seemed out-of-place. The Wraiths were coming at them in a classic box formation, and Wedge’s X-wing pulled out a few clicks ahead…

 

Then space exploded with light and color as fireworks flew out of Wedge’s torpedo bays.

 

“Crying moffs, did you see that Hobbie!? It worked even better then they said it would!!!!!” Janson could barely be heard over his hysterical laughing. The comms exploded with whistles, cat calls, whoops and surprised curses. The Wraiths began to chime in, poking fun at Wedge and joining in on the chatter.

 

“Now I know why you were so professional, Janson.” Wedge’s voice held no trace of coldness, only chagrin and disbelieving humor. “You never could have held it together if you talked more.”

 

“Got that one right, boss.” Hobbie sounded pleased. “That’s why he always goes scampering off before one of his pranks explodes. He can’t keep a straight face.” 

 

“Unlike you, Klivian.” Tycho sounded genuinely _amused_ for once. 

 

“Alright, alright. You’ve had your fun. Do I need to know anything else about my X-wing, Wes? Did you put tomo-sauce packets in my fuel tanks? Are these actually laser cannons or do they shoot confetti?” 

 

“Nah, that’s all we could convince the techs to let us do.” Janson’s voice was mournful. “I wanted to put a canister of stink-gas under your seat, but they wouldn’t let me. Some nonsense about flight safety or something.” 

 

“Ah.” Wedge answered to another course of laughs, before bringing his craft aft and shooting Janson. The low-power bolts were harmlessly deflected by his shields, but the “dead” pilot still cried out in surprise. 

 

“Boss! You aren’t supposed to shoot your subordinates!”

 

Their leader’s voice was back to its usual businesslike tone. “Read the regs, Rogue Six. There’s a special clause for when fireworks are involved.”

 

 

 

(The song was Katy Perry's "Firework")


End file.
